


Get Me Through Another Restless Night

by JadeCharmer



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Hopeful Ending, One Night Stands, Potentially Bad Decisions, Sex, Swearing, That Lead to Possibly More, Understanding and insight gained in possibly trashy and overdone ways, basically all just a shameless excuse for sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-23
Updated: 2014-01-23
Packaged: 2018-01-09 17:38:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1148913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JadeCharmer/pseuds/JadeCharmer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It’s been such a long time since she’s done the one-night stand thing, and to be honest, she had thought she was past that period in her life, but this guy is making her seriously second-guess that resolution.</i>
</p><p>In which Darcy goes for some much needed after work therapeutic release (read: alcohol), meets a man she later finds out is a former Russian assassin, and finds there's the potential for much more than she expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Get Me Through Another Restless Night

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the prompt, _"I met him at the bar. How was I supposed to know he was a supervillain? It’s not like he was wearing a name tag!"_
> 
> Many, many thanks to Polexia_Aphrodite for the hand-holding and the second set of eyes when my own were jittery and blurry. And for her not expressing exasperation over my (embarrassingly) numerous silly mistakes, or, at least, hiding that exasperation in a tasteful manner because she's a classy lady.

It had been a long fucking week at work. Scratch that. It had been a long fucking month. 

It’s a little known fact that managing the Avengers is an administrative nightmare. Between Tony’s trouble differentiating between “stop the bad guys” and “blow up all the things,” the general mayhem caused whenever a new enemy strikes, and the more recent addition of the Winter Soldier, former Russian spy, assassin, and all around big bad, to the team, the paperwork has doubled, causing Coulson’s intake of caffeinated beverages to triple, and Darcy to rethink her policy on much-needed after-work drinks. Her happy hour moratorium had started after, admittedly well-founded, rumors about a night of table dancing made the rounds at SHIELD and earned her a trademark Phil Coulson raised-eyebrow-of-disapproval.

Darcy has yet to actually meet the Winter Soldier - all she’s seen so far is grainy security footage and a face half-covered by a mask - but she blames him for the increased workload, and he owes her. She decides, for that reason alone, that he’s an asshole. Granted, he’s an asshole with an ass that can totally carry off SHIELD’s rather unforgiving uniform pants, but he’s an asshole nonetheless.

Needless to say, a reprieve from her jail sentence as Coulson’s right hand woman was pretty much necessary if she wanted to function as a normal human being. Well, as normal as a human being could be when they spent their days around superheroes in what could best be described a frat house. She needs drinks, she needs loud music, and she needs to mindlessly grind her ass in some guy’s crotch. In that order.

Once Phil has given her the all clear for the entire weekend off, barring any Avengers-related disasters, the man barely had time to say goodbye before Darcy was out the door. A quick stop at her apartment for a change of clothes and to redo her make-up from day to night is all she needs before she takes a cab to one of the smaller clubs the junior agents had been talking about in the break room last week. It might be a mistake to go to a place where other SHIELD employees might show up, but she has little patience for the bigger clubs, and the kind of person who usually goes to them. Plus, she knows better than most that, as much as she wants a break, it’s easier to go to a club that’s already been vetted by SHIELD. Her days of being a civilian are over, and she’s seemed to inherit the natural siren call of trouble that comes with the job. Or maybe it’s just New York. 

She walks through the door and immediately posts herself at the only open seat at the bar. The music is loud, but not brain crushingly so, with a steady beat that already has her tapping her toes and adding a little more wiggle to her step. The lights are dim, but not enough that she has a hard time making out the features of the people she passes. The menu is full of drinks she’s never heard of, but she’s game for something new and picks the one that sounds the most delicious. It also happens to have a healthy amount of alcohol in it, which is just sheer coincidence, of course.

The drink arrives, and it satisfies every craving she had in that area. She orders another one before the first is even finished since the bar is filling up fast and it might take awhile to get the bartender’s attention again.

“Same,” calls the voice beside her - male, deeper toned, husky. The voice alone has her in instant awareness and, dear whatever deity, if this guy isn’t hot when she turns to look at him, there is absolutely no justice in this world.

Her glance totally proves that Thor really is a god. The man is tall, broad in the shoulders, with dark hair a little on the longer side. He’s definitely muscular, but he moves with the ease of a man comfortable in his body. She can see his hands when he grabs his drink, his fingers long and strong and she briefly wonders what they’d feel like curled inside her. She flushes slightly at the thought, pushing it aside quickly, grateful for the lighting that her red cheeks aren’t discernible. 

“James,” the man offers with a small nod upon catching her glance.

“Darcy,” she answers. She looks him up and down, not caring if it seems rude. “You dance, James?”

The beginning of a smile tipped the corners of his mouth. “For the right girl, yeah. You askin’?”

“I might be,” she says with a tip of her head.

“Then I might be saying yes.” 

With that, she finishes her drink and lets him drag her out onto the dance floor. There’s some distance between them at first as they learn how the other moves. They go a few songs like this, slowly edging closer, until a song with a low, sensual beat comes over the speakers. Without saying anything, James wraps a hand around her waist, pulling her closer to him until her hips are practically pressed up against his. His leg comes between hers and she’s practically riding his hip through the entire song, her hands clenched tight in his shirt. His hand never leaves the middle of her back, pressing her close to his body, even as his other one trails up and down her arm, leaving a wake of goosebumps and awareness behind. 

It’s been such a long time since she’s done the one-night stand thing, and to be honest, she had thought she was past that period in her life, but this guy is making her seriously second-guess that resolution. As the song switches over, Darcy turns in his arms so her back is to his chest. His hands are on her waist, pulling her back against him so her ass is tight against his body. Arms tanned from the sun wrap around her, laying across the front of her hips as they sway together, each movement connected and intimate. Darcy can feel that he’s hard against her and, fuck it, she’s already made her decision. 

She turns in his arms, his hands still around her when she faces him. His gaze is shuttered, but he looks ready to let her go, if she wants him to. Which is so far the opposite of what she wants. She tips her head up and he bends lower, closing the distance between them, but still waiting for her. His eyebrows raise as if to say, your move. It doesn’t feel like a challenge, but Darcy still can’t resist. Without second thought, she closes the distance and kisses him. His fingers tighten at her sides, moving to her back and pulling her closer. One of his hands moves higher, pulling lightly on her hair to make her gasp. He takes advantage, deepening the kiss. 

“Wanna get out of here?” she asks when they finally break apart.

“So badly,” he murmurs. His voice is low and this, underpinned with a barely constrained need that pulls a giddy huff of laughter out of Darcy. Her awareness of him is still threatening to drown her, but it feels like everything she’s wanted right in this moment and she can’t help but grab on with both hands. James settles up both of their tabs at the bar before steering her out the door, his hand resting in the small of her back. The touch is light, undemanding, but a constant point of contact that is full of so many promises. It’s a quick cab ride back to her apartment, and it feels far too long. James drives her crazy with little touches that make her all too aware of her arousal. By the time they’re dropped on her doorstep, she’s practically humming with need.

As soon as they walk through the door, James has her up against the wall before she even realizes what’s going on. Darcy’s ashamed to admit that he catches her off-guard, and will totally deny it later, but she yelps in surprise and can’t help it as her keys drop on the wood floor. James presses a kiss hard against the side of her neck, teeth scraping lightly over the tendons between her neck and her shoulder, making her gasp. Her hands go exploring, running over his strong forearms, feeling the firm line of muscle in each, up the back of his neck and down to his waist. She lifts up the t-shirt just enough to get at the skin underneath, warm and smooth under her palms.

“I could fuck you right here,” he growls, his breath hot on her throat. His fingers are already dipping under her shirt to stroke at her skin underneath, teasing her with the soft touches. His other hand cups her between her legs, offering enough pressure to make her buck into his hand. “Right here, in your entryway, hard and fast, without even taking off our clothes. Would you let me fuck you here? Let me make you scream my name while your pants are still around your ankles?”

“Yes,” she can’t help but pant even as she twists her hips in a vain attempt to try to get his hand to move. His fingers tap out a teasing beat against her clit, but it’s not enough, nowhere near enough, especially with her jeans dulling the sensation, even when her arousal is making everything feel notched up and enhanced. Without another word, he drops to his knees, tugging and pulling at her jeans until they’re down on the floor. She’s still in her heels, but hastily steps out of them, losing about four inches of her height as she does so. With his help and a bit of fumbling when the heel of one of her shoes gets tangled, Darcy finally manages to step out of the legs of her jeans and toss them aside, along with her panties. James runs his hands along her thighs, up, down, stroking her skin before pulling her legs apart to tease her with his tongue, leaving her gasping his name. 

When Darcy looks down at him between her legs, she can see the strength and play of his muscles underneath the thin cotton of shirt - broad shoulder and ropey curves running down his back. Her fingers itch to trace the lines of his muscles, to feel them move and tug under her touch. Her hands tighten where they’re wrapped around his wrists, the golden skin of both hands warm and soft under her touch, at her waist. His fingers dig into her hips and ass, tilting her forward as he moves closer, his tongue curling inside her as his nose bumps against her clit.

The first time she comes, it sneaks up on her, taking her over and under. She tugs weakly on James’ hair to get him to stop, but the bastard doesn’t. Instead, he adds two fingers to his tongue, teasing her while she’s still so damn sensitive from the first orgasm. He adds a third finger, filling her and pushing deep inside to curl and twist, like he’s practically fucking her, until he hits just that right spot, sending her off the edge again. This time, he stops, pulling back with an unbearably smug grin. Darcy rolls her eyes and decides turnabout is fair play. 

She pulls on his arms, tugging him back up so he’s standing in front of her. Before he can try to stop her, she’s already undoing the buckle of his belt and unbuttoning his jeans. The feel of him in her hand, already hard and desperate, the way he gasps and sucks his lower lip in between his teeth, shoots her through with a heady sense of power. He bucks into her hand, and she uses her grasp to steer him into her bedroom. 

The rest of their clothes disappear on the way and, once there, Darcy wastes no time pulling out a condom from the stash in her bedside table. As soon as it’s rolled on, James is already pushing himself inside her with practically no resistance - she’s so wet and loose from two consecutive orgasms. She can’t help but swear as he fills her, feeling tight and so damn good as he finally comes to a stop - fully seated inside her. He bends down to give her a kiss, one that’s deep and more meaningful and intense that she’s expecting from a man that she really doesn’t know. He’s rocking against her, but it isn’t enough, despite how damn good it feels.

“More,” she orders, her hands on his ass, urging him to go faster, harder. James must agree because he pulls her legs apart until they’re practically up by her head. It’s not uncomfortable, but it has her stretched tight so every time he pushes back into her, she can feel every fucking thing. The angle is amazing, hitting everything just right, until she’s shuddering with need. “Don’t even think of stopping,” she growls as she pushes up against him, urging him on. He doesn’t need to be told twice, thank Thor, and is practically as desperate as Darcy is by this point. He takes her hand and licks at her fingers, taking one, then two, into his mouth, sucking hard. It makes her think of how he looked between her legs, how damn good his tongue felt inside her, and the image makes her shudder and clench, the orgasm rolling through her. He comes shortly after, whispering to her how damn beautiful she is when she falls apart in his arms.

***

When Monday morning rolls around, for the first time in too long, she’s actually kind of ready to mentally handle the week, despite her scheduled early morning meeting with Coulson, Sitwell, and the entire Avengers team. The only downside is since she’s still in such a good mood from the weekend, she’s barely planned out even a half-decent lecture to give the Winter Soldier, now that she’s finally going to meet him. But that ends up being a good thing because the first person she sees when she walks into the conference room is James. James who was rolling out of her bed Saturday morning after fucking her through another orgasm as his good-bye. James with an arm made of metal which she _definitely_ would not have missed so he must have had some nice SHIELD tech to wear around in the outside world. James who is currently joking around with Steve. It feels about ten different kinds of wrong that the guy who went down on her Friday night, who had his tongue between her legs, is joking around with Captain Freaking America. Pretty much any lecture she might have had disappears over the fact that her one night stand is currently holding residence in the middle of a conference room at SHIELD and looking perfectly at home doing so.

Also, she is so never going to a SHIELD approved bar again.

Coulson, who was right on her heels into the room, makes the introductions and Darcy has to commend herself over not choking when she finds out that it’s not just any old SHIELD agent she picked up. Nope, she banged the Winter Soldier this weekend. Thankfully, Sitwell shows up shortly after and she’s saved from having to make any sort of awkward small talk. She does have to suffer through Bucky’s telling grin and Steve’s curious expression for the entire meeting, however. Thankfully, Stark is too busy arguing with Banner about something or other, and the super spy wonder twins are on assignment elsewhere. The entirety of the Avengers team can be, unfortunately all too observant, usually when you would least like them to be. Banner corners her after the meeting is done, something about requisitions requests, which saves her from having to make up any other excuse to vacate the room immediately. Yeah, she’s not ashamed to admit it, she totally doesn’t know how to handle one-night stands when you work with the person. She makes it a point to not get involved with coworkers, actually, though that policy is clearly out the window. The best she can do, she decides as she listens to Bruce, is act like an adult and just shrug off the entire thing, no matter how much Barnes might smirk at her.

Even with her decision made, it doesn’t stop her from fleeing to Jane’s lab as soon as she possibly can for lunch, though.

***

“Seriously, Darcy? You just picked up a random man at the bar and slept with him?”

“Whoa, hey there, hold up the judgment train, there, kettle. I distinctly remember someone picking up a random man who, may I remind you, fell from the sky, and sleeping with him.”

A faint blush brushes across Jane’s cheeks. “That’s different,” she protests weakly. Her voice gains strength, though, as she points out, “I didn’t meet him at some dive bar. And I at least knew his name.”

“You met him in the middle of the desert where he was yelling for his hammer, Jane. You’re right, that makes it completely legitimate. And of course I knew his name,” Darcy adds with a smirk, knowing she’s about to purposely twerk Jane off with this next part. “How else did I know what to scream?”

Jane rolls her eyes. “You’re hopeless.”

Darcy grins. “I know.”

“So if you knew his name, how did you not put it together who he is?”

“I didn’t ask for his super secret spy codename, Jane. People tend to give you funny looks when you do that.”

“You’re Coulson’s gal Friday. You should know both.”

“Should,” Darcy allows, wagging her finger in the air. “But because of his ‘circumstances,’” she air quotes the word because that’s pretty much the understatement of the year, “his file is hella classified all the way to the top. Like, I’m surprised he’s even allowed to walk around New York classified. Should be buried in a bunker in Siberia classified. Roswell classified.”

Jane rolls her eyes again. Then stops when Darcy gives her a meaningful look. Just because Darcy knows, at least according to the SHIELD files she may or may not have had permission to snoop through, they really were the first desert alien encounter doesn’t mean she can’t keep Jane on her toes a little bit. Jane seems to push aside the possibility, though, and perseveres with the topic at hand. Because of course she does. What Darcy wouldn’t give for a good lab explosion right now to get out of this questioning. Seriously, where’s Tony when you need him to blow something up? Instead, she’s left with Jane giving her a very pointed look, the one that used to say ‘poptarts or death’ when Darcy was her intern. “And you let that stop you?” she says with a scoff. “What happened to the Darcy I know who would hack her way into anything simply for curiosity’s sake?

Darcy shrugs, a bit defensive. She doesn’t hack into everything. And, honestly, she really kind of hates hacking into personnel files. She’s all about keeping people on their toes by pulling the information rug out from under them when they’re trying to hide their funny business, sure. But she draws the line at looking into someone’s history. Some things should stay private, some secrets are too personal to share. “It was a busy week,” she offers. “Besides, you wouldn’t like it if I hacked into your file.”

“I’m also not a terrorist,” Jane retorts, already focusing back on her research. 

“Not yet,” Darcy says in a sing-song voice. “But I’m pretty sure you’re one fifty-hour, all work, no sleep, existing on caffeine, sugar, and sheer will-power-slash-insanity stretch away from becoming one.”

“Get out of my lab,” Jane orders, finger pointing to the door.

“Says the future overlord.” Darcy manages to duck the box of pencils that are thrown her way. Jane’s aim is always completely off when she won’t look up from her papers and is basing on sound location. “So I’ll see you later then,” Darcy ventures, making a hasty exit when she sees Jane reach for the stapler.

***

So, it happens again. A week later. Different bar, though, so there is that. Darcy decided to change it up, since it probably isn’t a good thing to get in the habit of falling into bed with your coworkers, nevermind how attracted she might be to them. Or how they can actually manage to make Avengers debriefings entertaining and all too short, like Barnes has managed to multiple times this week.

She’s just finished off her first drink when a second appears on the bar in front of her. She’s about to thank the bartender who is so getting a hefty tip tonight after this service. However, when she looks up, expecting to see the sandy haired bartender, there is, instead, the dark-haired James Barnes looking at her with an already entirely too satisfied smirk playing on his lips.

She quirks an eyebrow. “Come here often, too?”

James, Bucky, she mentally corrects, shrugs. “Just heard about it today. Thought I might give it a chance.”

Darcy narrows her eyes at him, but the man just shoots her another knowing smirk, almost daring her to pigeonhole him into a confession that this is anything other than a coincidence. What good would it do her, though? She sticks with her suspicions, because she’s never been a fan of coincidence, and promises to look into it later herself. There are a few people at SHIELD who knew where she was going tonight that could have easily tipped off, either on purpose or inadvertently, a former Soviet spy. Besides, Barnes will never give her a straight answer at this rate anyway. 

And so it plays out much like it did the week before, except the part where it isn’t the same at all. They flirt over drinks, they dance, they get more drinks. And he makes her laugh. It’s new, and not entirely unwelcome. They go off to a quiet end of the bar where they don’t have to yell to be heard, and they actually talk. She tells him how she ended up at SHIELD, he fills her in on some of his adventures with the Avengers, the personal stories that don’t make it into the files. She gets to know him in those quiet moments at the end of the bar and, despite her best intentions, she finds herself liking him more and more.

This time, when they leave, Darcy is the one to grab his hand and steer him out of the bar. He never once drops her hand on the way back to her place. Instead, he threads their fingers together, his thumb rubbing lightly over the top of her hand the entire cab ride there. The air between them feels charged this time, more full of potential rather than just sexual tension and Darcy isn’t quite sure what to do with that. 

“Take off the damn sleeve,” she orders once they’re in the bedroom. His shirt is already long gone somewhere in the vicinity of the living room and she’s left tugging at the fake skin covering his arm. She knows about the metal arm, saw it in all their meetings this week, and doesn’t give a shit. She does give a shit about him feeling the need to hide it, though, which he only seems to do when he’s out in public. When he’s not on a mission with the Avengers, or in SHIELD headquarters, when he’s in places where he thinks people will stare and he doesn’t want to have to deal with their questions. Places where it’s easier to hide who and what he is and she doesn’t want him doing that here. Not with her.

“Most people don’t like it,” he deflects, moving her hand away and pinning it against her side. He presses another kiss against her neck, purposely avoiding her gaze. “They don’t want a metal hand touching them, let alone jerking them off.”

Darcy rolls her eyes and breaks out of his hold to take his arm in hers once again. She tugs at the sleeve until he relents, removing the fake skin developed as part of his civilian cover by Stark, and tossing it aside. His eyes look at hers now, searching for the judgment that she would never give him. Instead, she once again grabs his hand, the metal cool and smooth under her touch, and presses it between her legs, curling his fingers with her own to stroke at her panties, which are already embarrassingly wet.

“I don’t care either way about the arm getting me off, so long as it’s you,” she informs him, head tipping back when he continues to stoke without her encouragement. The sentiment rings a little too close to emotions, specifically emotions she should not be having in this scenario, but she’s not taking it back, especially after she sees the flash of gratitude, here one second and gone the next, in his eyes.

Darcy kisses him hard again, trying to push him farther and faster. She wants it rough like they did last time, hard and unforgiving, two strangers using each other to get off. But they aren’t two strangers anymore. Despite her best attempts to pull him to her, to get him inside her so she can fuck him, he resists. Instead, he takes her hands that keep urging him closer and tightens his hands around her wrists, gently, but firmly, holding them to the mattress above her head. His lips move over her body and each time she bucks against him, trying to get him to go lower, he pulls back.

Finally, after the third time, he kisses her soft on the lips. When he pulls back, he looks into her eyes, a look of raw honesty in those blue depths. “Let me do this. Please.”

It’s the ‘please’ that breaks her. The vulnerability he’s willing to show by simply asking for something. He knows exactly what he’s requesting, the same vulnerability and surrender in return, and it feels like they’re on the precipice of something bigger. 

Letting out a shaky breath, Darcy gives a small nod and stops fighting to get what she wants. Bucky gives her another soft kiss, the gratitude an unspoken gesture. His lips move down her body, stopping at her neck to gently kiss the skin in the dip of her throat. His tongue darts out, a slow, sensual lick that has her tipping her head back, asking for more. He gives her one last kiss before moving down, covering her breasts with fluttering kisses. He has both of her hands in one of his, now, and uses his other hand, his metal hand, to tease at one of her nipples. Not tease, she realizes with a gasp. Stroke, touch. There’s reverence in his movements, even as he takes her other nipple in his mouth and sucks gently. She can’t help but shift her hips, trying to gain some relief from the arousal shooting through her.

He doesn’t stop this time, instead pressing one of his legs between her thighs. She lets out a cry as she finally gains some relief, rubbing herself hard against his denim covered leg. Her panties are sopping and sticking to his jeans as she moves, and she goes from satisfaction to frustration in an instant. 

“Let me do this,” he reminds her softly. He shifts his body, pulling his legs away. Her protest is silenced when he settles his entire body between her legs, his broad shoulders spreading her legs wide. She can see the dark hair of his head, stark against the white of her legs, when she looks down, sending another flood of arousal through her. Her hands, now free, twist in sheets as his tongue touches her, finally. 

He pulls back at her gasp, teasing bastard, and she runs her fingers through his hair, gripping the back of his head and tugging him back to where he needs to be. He gives a soft chuckle that blows across her, sending a tiny shudder down her spine. His tongue flicks out again, teasing, once, twice. Her fingers tighten in his hair and he finally, finally, stops the teasing. His tongue is teasing, light strokes, before pressing hard up, circling around and around. Her hips are moving under his attentions even as she clenches her insides, needing more. So much more.

“Please,” she finally begs, which is apparently what he’d been waiting for. Without another word, he places his thumb from one hand on top of her clit, flicking as he uses his other hand to push two fingers inside her, curling up just right to hit the spot that has her tipping her head back in a relieved moan that’s carrying his name. He strokes her a few more times before removing his hand, crawling up her body. He kisses her and she can taste herself on his tongue. His hands are cradling her head, soft, full of care, as he pushes inside her. His strokes are languid, slow, the necessity and urgency subsided, at least momentarily. Her arms wrap around his neck, pulling him down to kiss her again as her fingers curl in the short hair at the base of his head. The strands slip through her fingers like silk, another sensation to all the others he’s teasing out of her body. He feels heavy inside of her as he moves, building her up again slowly. 

He’s whispering things to her, things she wants to say are filthy, but they’re filled with such tenderness, too, that it feels shameful to classify them so simplistically. That she’s beautiful, that she looks so damn good right when she’s about to come, that he loves how she feels around his cock, tight and wet and fuck, he can feel how she’s practically vibrating, she’s so damn close. He tells her how good she tastes, how he wants to make her come on his tongue again, how she gets all breathy and victorious when she comes for him. How she’s so damn gorgeous. How much he wants her. He comes with a hard thrust and a groan, hips still moving even after he comes down. His fingers, metal and slick, slide down her side to between her legs where she’s so wet, pressing and finally, finally pushing her over the edge, leaving her boneless in his arms.

As she lays there, trying to catch her breath and slow her still rushing heart, she realizes something. It isn’t the sex part that throws her about them. Not that it isn’t amazing, because it is. Mind-blowing, though she’ll never tell the smug bastard that. No, it’s the after sex part that throws her. She knows this story. She knows this game. There should be the obligatory but highly awkward half-attempt at a cuddle or embrace because nobody wants to look like an ass who pulls out and runs while their cum is still drying on your thigh. Well, they used condoms, so metaphorically. Point is, there is a routine, a ritual, where, after a certain amount of time passes, the guy usually feels the free pass to leave and Darcy doesn’t stop him.

With Barnes though? Everything she knows is thrown on it’s head. The sex itself was different, more intense in a way that she can’t define. And after they’ve both come, he doesn’t pull out of her right away. Instead, he stays buried deep inside of her, that full feeling lasting long after the tingles from her last orgasm have dissipated. It feels warm, comforting. She kind of likes that he isn’t pulling out right away after they’ve both finished, leaving her with that empty feeling. 

It’s caring in a way a one-night stand isn’t allowed to feel. 

He’s rolled over so she’s on top of him, his hand resting in the middle of her back as their chests are pressed together. She can feel the beat of his heart against her skin, steady, strong, true. His metal fingers, warmed from her, from the long time spent touching her, slowly start to skim up and down her side. But it’s not about a second round. Instead, it’s about contact, as if he can’t help himself. Like he can’t stop touching her, almost reverent with each stroke of his fingers. Like worship.

Darcy, usually firm on the whole standards of one-nights, or second-night stands, in this case, breaks all her rules at that point. She rests her arm on his chest, using it as padding for her chin so she can look at him. His blue eyes, still so watchful of her movements, despite being half open, are lighter, both in color and in emotion. She brushes his hair out of his face with her other hand, tucking the soft strands behind his ear. Instead of letting go, like she should, she leaves her hand cupped against his chin, her thumb softly stroking over the well-beyond five o’clock shadow that’s left a tell-tale beard burn between her thighs and along her neck. They stay like that for awhile until Bucky shifts and, taking the hint, Darcy rolls off of him. He gets out of the bed, and leans over where she’s laying.

“Gimme two minutes,” he tells her, a soft kiss on the lips.

“Sure,” Darcy says with a false grin. Her heart sinks in her chest as she says it, though, because, yeah, they’ve reached that moment and she was a fool to think otherwise. One-night stands have rules for a reason. She can hear him rustling around in the bathroom, then the soft click of the light turning off. The old wood floor boards creek under his weight as he walks back to bed and she steels up her emotions because for fuck’s sake, they’ve slept together twice and she is not the girl to get goofy about a guy just because he can get her off.

It’s not just that, though, and she knows it.

When he gets back, she can see he’s disposed of the condom and cleaned himself up a bit. She expects him to make his goodbyes, pull on his jeans, and leave. Instead of tugging on his clothes, though, he lays back down in the bed and pulls the covers over both of them.

“This ok?” he asks as he pulls his arm over her, tucking her in close to him. She can feel the warmth of his chest against her back and the scent that she’s already come to recognize as Bucky. Her pillows smelled like him for the entire next day last time. Part of her hopes his scent lingers longer in her sheets this time, but it’s a foolish sentiment to hold on to.

“Yeah,” she says softly as she snuggles into his warmth, ignoring the direction of her thoughts. She could easily ruin this, this thing, whatever it is, with a ton of introspection and anxiety but she refuses to do to. Because this moment right now? It’s kind of perfect.


End file.
